Jace's Childhood
by theolivetree
Summary: This is a series of one -shots about Jace's life growing up with Valentine as a father. Rating may change later on.
1. Chapter 1

This is a series of one-shots about Jace's childhood with Valentine before he knew the evils of his father. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or Crayola Crayons

Drawing the Sunrise

Idris is a beautiful place for one to call home. The lush green landscape meets the crystal blue, cloudless sky every day just after a sunrise of every color ever thought of, and even though it was there and gone within an hour, Jace Wayland was determined to draw it. See, his father, Michael Wayland had told him if he could draw the sunrise he would have no chores for a week, and to an eight-year-old, a whole week is a substantial amount of time. Every morning for the past month Jace would arise before anyone else in Idris, collect his box of sixty-four crayons, and wait for the sun to bring forth a new day. The problem for his mind to grasp was that the sunrise was different every day. He figured that if he picked one part of the sky to draw every day, eventually he would have the whole sky drawn on his little piece of paper. Today he was going to draw the western most part of the sky, the last section in his masterpiece. After observing the ways the blues, pinks, and purples mixed he picked up his crayons and began to draw. First, his left hand reached for a shade of purple, purple mountains majesty, to be exact. Jace always liked to over exaggerate things, so purple mountains majesty was his favorite crayon, and whenever the sun rise decided to let him use it he would jump at the chance. He ferociously scribbled on his paper, trying to catch all the colors on the paper, for the sunrise was turning to day. As the sky returned to its usual blue, the young boy sighed in relief. He had finished, just in time too, for today he was supposed to clean out the horse stables, and in his opinion, no matter how long he cleaned, they always remained dirty.

He continued on with his daily morning routing and made breakfast for him and his father. Every morning Jace would squeeze fresh orange juice and make two eggs, sunny side up. Although Jace could not wait for his father to wake, he was patient, for he knew if he rushed his old man in the morning there would be unspeakable consequences. Jace set the table and sat down in his chair, opposite his fathers and politely waited to begin eating. Just as the food was turning cold, Michael Wayland walked into the small kitchen. He plopped down into his chair and began to eat his food without even noticing the egar boy sitting across from him. Jace, mimicking his father began to eat to, sipping at his juice just after his father did. After breakfast was finished and the dishes were cleared Michael Wayland seemed to notice his son vibrating with excitement next to him. "What is it Jace," he asked.

"Father, I finished my picture of the sunrise, and I wish to show it to you."

"Hand it here boy." Jace quickly obliged and then occupied himself by carefully inspecting the kitchen floor tiles.

"This is very good."

"Thank you Father!"

"But there color schemes are all wrong. They don't blend. The picture appears to be drawn in segments. This is not what I wanted from you. The orders were to draw on sunrise. Did I not make myself clear!?" Michael screamed at his son.

"Yes sir" Jace barely breathed in response.

"This is a piece of trash, it has no use but for kindling," and with that Michael threw his sons masterpiece into the flames of their furnace without a second thought.

R&R Please! I will take ideas for this series of one shots!

~ Tree


	2. Chapter 2

This idea was a suggestion I received and I was going to write about it anyways so here it is…

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing!

Training

One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety seven, Jace was counting down the number of sit ups he had left before he had to start the push ups As he had turned nine last week his father had said, "Boy, it's time for you to begin training like a man." Sure, Jace had trained before with blunt swords and he had been mimicking his father for his whole life, but there was never a set time to train every day. Now that he was a "big boy" he had to get up early to train and work out. Every morning at seven sharp he would report to the training room in his house. Fist he would complete a set of stretches that would one day allow him to be a contortionist, then he would begin the strength training. One hundred sit ups, one hundred push ups, fifty pull ups, and a one mile run. If he took more than an hour to complete his session he would have to repeat the whole thing and miss lunch.

After a brief lunch Jace and his father would spar. His morning session was a piece of cake compared to the sparing. Michael Wayland could not get it through his thick skull that he was sparing with his nine-year-old son who only outweighed his new sword by twenty pounds, not a massive demon trying to kill him. Just as Jace would pull his sword up into a defense stance, Michael would knock his sword across the room. Jace, determined to succeed in his father's eyes would run across the room to retrieve it, only to be mercilessly knocked down again. That wasn't the worst though. Jace was a natural with a sword, the skill had been known since he could hold one, but as a new learner he lacked technique. His father would dance in circles around him hitting him with the blunt edge of the sword to show him where he needed to block and defend. The hits were hard. Whenever Jace would successfully block a strike he would smile and look to his father for approval only to be punished by a swat from his father's sword, showing him that he had lost concentration.

At night Jace would fall into his bed from exhaustion after supper and go straight to sleep, though he dreaded sleeping now. He would have the most vivid, awful dreams of dying by his father's sword; worst of all, there was nothing he could do to avoid dying. He would block, defend, and even try to go on the offensive, but his father would always stab him in the back, and he knew he had died. He would wake up screaming, begging for mercy; in pain from all the bruises he had covering his body. One though kept him motivated through the pain and mental torture: if he trained hard enough, he knew one day he could, and he would live fighting against his father.

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are generally appreciated!

~ Tree


	3. Chapter 3

I'm going to try something a little different with this chapter. Tell me if you guys like it! BTW contains spoilers if you haven't read through City of Glass.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Wrist

Jace and Clary had been sparing for the past hour or so in the training room at the institute. It was late, but Clary really needed to burn off some energy so she begged Jace to teach her a few new defense positions. Clary was learning quickly, and Jace was incredibly proud of her; she reminded him of himself when he was younger. They shared the same drive to overcome difficulty and improve. After Clary thought she had mastered the move she finally allowed herself a water break. Clary walked over to the fridge that Izzy and Alec kept full of cold drinks and she reached for a purple Gatorade, opened it, and moaned in delight as the cool substance slid down her throat. She heard the fridge open and close again knowing Jace had gotten water. He came and sat next to her.

"Thanks a lot for teaching me Jace. I think I'll use that move a lot."

"You will. It's saved my skin more than a few times."

"Do I want to know?"

"It's a long story…"

"Hey Jace are you ok?" Clary questioned noting the bag of ice he had on his right wrist.

"This" Jace gestured to his arm, "is no big deal. I shattered some of the little bones in my writs when I was really little, sometimes after a long day it hurts."

"Sorry. That sucks. Do you want me to draw an irtaze?"

"No, for some things, ice is just better."

"I hope you don't mind my questioning, but how did you break it."

"Sure. I don't feel like going to sleep yet. When I was six and living in Idris with my father, before I realized he wasn't my dad, I loved to be around him, and help him do things, you know how little kids love to mimic adults. One morning, after watching the sunrise, he left to go out in the field and do work. We lived on a huge patch of land, so we devoted part of it to farming crops so we wouldn't have to go into the city often. I remember him specifically telling me to "stay inside" and to "do your chores." In my six year old mind the whole day sounded un-asterous. For the first few house I did what he told me, but a six year old can only be left alone for so long. Time seems longer to little kids. Any ways, I decided to go outside and find my father when I saw this huge, fat man walking around our fields, so of course I walked right up to him."

"I can see it in my head… a little Jace standing up to a big scary guy!"

"Yes Clary I guess it would have been a funny image. Back to my tragic story, I politely asked Mr. Big and Ugly why he was roaming my father's fields when he just grabbed me and started yelling at me for trespassing on his Master's important monthly meeting. When he finally let me talk I asked him to let me go, and he did, after he squeezed my wrist so hard it broken into many pieces. I ran all the way home and hid under the stairs until my father arrived. He eventually found me and he tried to set my wrist. He got most of the bones back into place, but I think a few of them had pieces chip off. It just never healed right."

"I'm really sorry Jace. Did you ever find out who the man's Master was?"

"I have an assumption."

Hope you all enjoyed! I love getting reviews. In the story I made a hidden reference to a TV show did you catch it?

~ Tree


	4. Chapter 4

Jace's Childhood Chapter 4

**This was inspired by the events almost every child goes through at least once in his or her lifetime. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments**

Cookies

The warm, homey smell of baking cookies filled the Waylands' farmhouse in Idris. Once a year or when the Waylands would have company, Michael and his young son Jace would bake chocolate chip cookies from Michael's great grandmother's recipe. The two would spend hours in the kitchen baking the scrumptious morsels, and as the two were perfectionist, they would throw out any cookies that did not make the "perfect cookie" standards. Each cookie they made was exactly one inch in diameter and had a least five chocolate chips in it, and if not, the cookie was thrown in to their fireplace to burn, as all unworthy things did in their home. After fifty perfect cookies were created the two began to clean the disaster that had become of their kitchen. Jace was on dish duty and Michael was in charge of sweeping the floors and wiping down the counters. Once the two had returned their kitchen to its spotless condition Jace was ordered to go to bed. Normally Jace would do as he was told, but he desperately craved a cookie. He had worked hard baking them today and did not understand why he could not eat one before bed. According to his father, it was too late to have any more sugar; therefore Jace would have to wait until tomorrow to have a cookie. Jace was incredibly disappointed but in the end did as he was told.

As Jace lay in his bed he could not stop thinking about the still warm cookies just a hallway away. In his opinion, cookies were at their flavor prime just as they came out of the oven, not the morning after. As he knew he would not be able to have cookies again this year he knew he had to take the opportunity laid out before him. Once Jace could hear the steady rhythm of his father's snoring he silently crept from his small bed, down the hall towards the dark kitchen. Without turning the lights on Jace made his way towards the cookie jar which was on top of the kitchen counter, across from their sink. After checking his back once more just to make sure he wouldn't get caught in the act, he declared it safe to take a cookie. He effortlessly removed the lid from the cookie jar and stuck his small, lithe hand inside. He smiled in delight when he was still able to feel the warmth radiating off the cookies and he lifted one cookie out and quickly devoured it. He reached in for another, and another. After about five cookies Jace decided he needed some milk to wash the cookies down. He tiptoed to the fridge and opened it only to have the bright light blare in his face. Once his blue eyes had adjusted, he reached in and grabbed the gallon of milk. He set the milk on the counter and got his favorite blue cu out of the dishwasher. As he was concentrating on not spilling the milk, he did not hear his father creeping into the room.

"Jace, what are you doing up at this late hour?" Michael inquired of his four year old son.

"Um… I woke up and I was thirsty."

"Were you hungry Jace?"

"…No" Jace lied.

"Well then who ate these cookies" How could his father know? Jace had been extremely careful to keep all crumbs off the floor and table.

"I don't know…" What young Jace didn't know was that his whole mouth was covered in melted chocolate chips and his teeth were brown with chocolate.

"Well Jace, if you didn't eat them, and I was asleep, who ate the cookies?"

"A…Um… she did" Jace proclaimed as he pointed in a random direction, and when his father turned his head just to amuse his son, Jace turned and ran in the other direction. Boy, was he going to get it in the morning.

**Hoped you guys liked it! R&R please! I love comments! **

**~ Tree**


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